


Heartbreakers

by Phyona



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Break Up, Drinking, Fluff, Hangover, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Slow Burn, Tequila, Unreliable Narrator, though not for long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyona/pseuds/Phyona
Summary: Yuuri breaks Victor's heart...again, and again, and again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Victor is just 2 years older than Yuuri in this fic (because I wanted to write teen angst) and they meet about 10 years early, so following canon changes accordingly. I swear this fic is goofier than its title and summary imply.
> 
> I love you like Victor loves tequila in this fic. (the tequila does not love him back)

Victor stands at the altar.  A swell of awkward whispers and creaking seats rises in the air.  He starts to laugh.

Chris touches his elbow and looks at him like he’s lost his mind, which, hey, he might have.

“I’m sure he’ll be here,” Chris whispers in French, like what’s happening right now is a secret.  Everyone knows exactly what’s going on, from the officiator dabbing sweat from her brow with a piece of paper (Are those the _vows?_ ), to the ring bearer who just asked his mother from across the room, “Can we leave yet?”

“He did it again,” Victor says through a manic giggle, shaking his head.  “I can’t believe he did it again.”

“Did…did what?” Chris asks, like he doesn’t already know.

Victor doesn’t answer.  He doesn’t need to.  Instead, he bends over, hands on his knees, and laughs like he’s never laughed before.  He laughs like he’s vomiting, sobs bubbling from his throat, his stomach muscles spasming.  His audience falls silent, and though he doesn’t look, he can feel their bulging eyes on him like insects on his skin.

With a clap, Victor shoots upright and hops off the altar.  He strides down the aisle, praying Chris has the wherewithal to follow him. 

He doesn’t let the tears fall until he’s down the street, only a few paces from the nearest open bar.  Ripping the green carnation boutonniere off his lapel, he tosses it over his shoulder.

Yuuri Katsuki has broken his heart…again.

 

 

Victor falls in love with Yuuri the moment he sees him.

He’s sitting with Yakov, helping him review submission tapes for his Figure Skating and Ballet intensive summer camp, when he first claps eyes on the young prodigy from Japan.

Yuuri moves like he’s made of music, with emotion and passion that renders his slightly above average jumps irrelevant.  Every flourish, every spin calls to Victor in a language that feels like it was made just for him. 

“Wow,” he breathes.  “Amazing.”

“His jumps need work.”

Victor grabs Yakov’s arm and shakes him.

“You have to pick him!  He’s perfect, Yakov!  Perfect!”

Yakov looks at him like he regrets everything about his life.

“If I’m going to take on someone with jumps like that, you’re responsible for tutoring him.”

Victor beams.  He has a feeling Yuuri is about to become his new best friend.

 

Yuuri hates him.

It’s the only possible explanation for why he went stiff in Victor’s arms when he hugged him in greeting, and why he’s ignoring him now as he unpacks his suitcase in their shared room.

Still, Victor is nothing if not persistent.

“Yakov says I’m going to be tutoring you.  Isn’t that exciting?”

Yuuri doesn’t answer.  He keeps his head down, focus married to the sweatpants he’s folding and placing in a drawer.

“I saw your submission tape.  You could be really incredible if you work on your jumps and lose a little weight.”

Yuuri goes rigid, his fists clenching.  Frowning, Victor chews his lip and rocks a little where he’s sitting on his bunk.  Perhaps Yuuri doesn’t think he’s qualified.  After all, he probably has no idea who Victor is.

“I’m the best skater here, so I’m capable of helping you with your jumps, even though I’m only a couple years older than you.  I was much more advanced at your age than you are, so don’t worry, I can definitely make you better.”

Yuuri still doesn’t respond.

“Don’t you…speak English?” Victor asks, starting to wonder if he’d read the application wrong. 

“Yes,” Yuuri says, so quiet Victor can barely hear him. 

While he’s relieved that they’ll be able to communicate, Victor realizes that the reason Yuuri isn’t talking to him isn’t because he can’t.  It’s because he doesn’t want to.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Victor asks, cutting right to the point.  Yuuri cants his head and they make eye contact.

His eyes are a coppery shade of brown, stunning behind blue glasses that are too big for his face.  A high flush paints his chubby cheeks, his hair disheveled and falling across his forehead.  He’s beautiful and adorable and Victor falls in love just a little bit more.

Then Yuuri says, “Yes.”

And Victor’s heart breaks for the first time. 

 

“He hates me,” Victor bleats, smooshing his face on Yakov’s desk.  Yakov sighs and curses his “tortured existence” under his breath.

“Who doesn’t?” he deadpans.

“This is serious!  I think I was _bothering_ him.”

“Imagine that.”

“He barely even talked to me.  How am I supposed to make him fall in love with me if he won’t talk to me?”

Yakov picks the exact worst moment to sip his coffee.  He chokes on it, coughing and sputtering as Victor looks on with impatient eyes.

“Victor.  I told you to tutor the kid, not seduce him.”

“But he’s my _soulmate_ ,” Victor cries, rubbing his face back and forth on Yakov’s desk.  Yakov glares down at the snot he’s smudging into the wood.

“You’re sixteen.  You have no idea what a soulmate is.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re getting a divorce.”

Yakov kicks Victor out of his office and tells him never to cry on his desk again.

Deflated and utterly miserable, Victor shuffles to the rink on the camp grounds.  He hopes some practice will distract him from the ache in his chest.

He expects the rink to be vacant this early in the program, since most of the campers haven’t arrived yet, but it isn’t.  Swirling across the center of the ice is Yuuri, and he’s even more compelling than he was in the video.  Every inch of his body is engaged as he moves through complicated footwork that would challenge even the most advanced skaters.  Victor can’t take his eyes off him. 

Yuuri doesn’t seem to notice him, either because he’s too absorbed in the music, or because his glasses are folded on the edge of the half-wall.  Victor gets an idea.

Snatching up the glasses and stuffing them in his pocket, he scuttles back to the locker room and tries not to snicker.  With a deep breath, he straightens his posture and strides back into the rink.

“Oh, hello Yuuri!” he shouts as he enters. 

Yuuri stumbles, falling to his knees, hard.  Victor winces.  Pain contorts Yuuri’s face, and he teeters as he pushes back to his feet.

“Sorry if I scared you,” Victor says, plucking off his blade guards and gliding out onto the ice.  He scratches the back of his head bashfully as he approaches Yuuri.  He can’t tell if Yuuri is glaring at him or squinting because he can’t see without his glasses.

“I was just finishing,” Yuuri mumbles.  It’s the most he’s spoken to Victor so far.  Victor decides to take it as a good sign.

“Now that I’m here, maybe we could run through some jumps since—”

Yuuri pushes past him like he doesn’t hear, and goes to the spot on the wall where his glasses used to be.

Victor bites his lip to keep from giggling, as he watches Yuuri fumble around for them.

“What are you looking for?” he asks, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

“My glasses.”

“Oh, you mean these?” Victor says, producing them from his pocket and slipping them on.   “Wow, you really are blind.”

“Give them back.”  Yuuri skates back up to him, keeping a safe distance between them and holding out his hand.  Victor closes the gap and watches the blurry flush on Yuuri’s cheeks flare.  He decides that Yuuri is lovely when he blushes.

“How about his.  I’ll give you back your glasses if you let me tutor you in one jump.”

“Y-you can’t do that.”

“If you still hate me after, I’ll leave you alone.  I’ll…” Victor swallows, rallying himself to take the gamble.  “I’ll even ask Yakov to change my room so you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“I don’t—“ Yuuri starts, but cuts himself off, gaze deflecting to the side.  He chews on his lip, sucking a breath in through his nose.  “Fine,” he says at last, and their eyes meet.  They can barely see each other, of course, but Victor feels a spark between them nonetheless. 

“Wonderful!” he says, pushing the glasses up to rest on the top of his head.  “Now, can you do a triple flip?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“I can do a _quad_ flip,” Victor says, preening.  Yuuri looks neither impressed nor surprised.  Victor’s grin falters.

Victor pours all of his focus into teaching Yuuri.  He speaks concisely, identifying Yuuri’s strengths to enhance them, and correcting his weaknesses.  It’s obvious from the start that Yuuri has some confidence issues, but he’s also an exceptional student.  He takes Victor’s notes seriously, an intuitive command of his body allowing him to soar through a triple flip in no time.

Victor can’t fight his disappointment when Yuuri succeeds.  He's taken aback to find how much he loves coaching Yuuri.  He doesn't want it to end.

“Can I have my glasses back now, please?”

“Yeah,” Victor says.  He pulls the glasses off his head, jerking them out of Yuuri’s reach when he tries to grab them.  Before Yuuri can escape, he gently slots the glasses onto his face, pressing on the bridge to ease them into place.  Yuuri blinks at him, frozen, and Victor wonders if he’s overstepped.  “You learn really quickly, you know,” he tries.

“Uh…thanks.”

“Or maybe I’m just a good teacher.  I’m so good I can make anyone decent.”  Victor is trying to lighten the mood, make a joke about his own ego, but he can see immediately that it falls flat.  Yuuri’s eyes narrow like he can’t stand the sight of him.  A hidden part of Victor crumples.  He can’t seem to say anything right.  He wishes, fruitlessly, that Yuuri could speak Russian.  Maybe things would be easier.

“Should I change my room?” he asks, quiet.  Yuuri stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable.

Then, Yuuri shrugs.  He turns and skates away from him, and he doesn’t look back. 

For the first time in his young, successful life, Victor feels like a failure.

 

 

“Get me four shots of the shittiest tequila you have.”

“Woah, buddy.  Don’t you think it’s a little early for that?” the bartender says.

“His fiancé just left him at the altar,” Chris announces helpfully from behind him.

“Coming right up.”

Victor collapses into the nearest barstool and nearly topples to the floor.  Chris steadies him with a grip on his shoulder and sinks into the adjacent seat.

“Victor, I know you’re upset right now—”

“You _think?_ ”

“But is it possible he just got delayed?  I don’t know him that well, but everyone can see he’s—”

“He’s done this before.”

Chris’s head jerks back, his brow puckering behind his round glasses.  He doesn’t respond until the bartender has handed over his shots and Victor has sucked down one of them.

“He….left you at the altar before?”

“No,” Victor says, voice hoarse with tequila.  “He’s broken my heart.  More times than I can even count.”

Chris doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that.  Victor doesn’t expect him to, so he swallows down another shot and hides his face in his forearm on the bar top.

“He broke my heart the day I met him.”

“When did you meet him?” Chris asks tentatively.  Victor turns his head on his arm in time to watch Chris pilfer one of his shots.

“At Yakov’s skating camp.  He was adorable.  And he hated me.”

“Wasn’t he, like, fourteen?”

“Yes.”

“He was probably just shy.”

“He was,” Victor says, unable to quell a throb of fondness.  He loves thinking about Yuuri back then, with his baby fat and his big eyes and nervous hands.  “But that wasn’t the first big bad one.  I was eighteen when it happened.”

Chris gestures for Victor to elaborate.  Part of Victor is hesitant to conjure up old, painful memories when he’s got such a gaping, new wound to survive, but he figures he has nothing left to lose.  He sucks down the final shot, orders another, and talks.

 

 

Victor has never been more nervous in his life.

It’s the last day of summer camp, and he is going to tell his best friend that he’s in love with him.

It took years of persistence and goading and desperate gestures of affection, but Yuuri has finally started to open up to Victor, and Victor knows that if he doesn’t make his move now, he never will. 

The camp is finishing with its usual dance, an event for skaters to mingle and build relationships for their future careers, but for Victor it’s the last opportunity to ask Yuuri to be his date.  He’s eighteen and a World Champion, and he has to leave the camp behind him.  He won’t be able to bunk with Yuuri again, or share silly chats in the dark, or touch him a little more than necessary when he tutors him.  It’s time for him to go to university and become a professional.  A legend.  And he’s terrified that if he doesn’t bind himself to Yuuri in some way, he’s going to lose him.

Victor is an instructor-slash-counselor now, so it’s not strictly appropriate for him to be pursuing his student, but Yakov is well aware of his long-standing crush on Yuuri, and seems resolved to the fact that he can never tell Victor what to do once he sets his mind to something.

Fiddling with his hair and adjusting his shirt, Victor takes a deep breath and steps up to the door of their cabin.  He’s reaching for the handle when the sound of voices on the other side stops him.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the door is half screen, and he can’t help himself when he hears what they’re talking about.

“Who are you taking the dance?” a boy asks.  It takes Victor a second to realize it’s Phichit, Yuuri’s new friend.  He feels a stab of jealousy.  It’s only Phichit’s first year at the camp, and he’s younger than Yuuri, but he managed to befriend him instantly.  He spends more time in Victor and Yuuri’s cabin than his own, always whispering with Yuuri about some private joke and making him smile.  Victor never makes Yuuri smile like that.

“I don’t know.”

“Who do you usually go with?”

“I usually don’t go.”

“Why not?” Phichit asks.  Victor doesn’t breathe.

“It’s not really my thing.  And no one ever asks me anyway,” Yuuri says.  He sounds dejected.  Victor almost uses the opportunity to burst in and grandly ask him out, but then Phichit speaks.

“Aww, Yuuri, that’s sad!  Why don’t we go together this year?  It might be fun.”

An ache twists in Victor’s chest.  He reaches up to slam the door open, to do something, anything, to interfere.

Yuuri’s reply stops him short.

“Okay.”

Victor’s stomach drops to his shoes. 

He’s failed.  He’s missed his opportunity, and they’ll grow apart and Yuuri will never love him, no matter how hard Victor tries.  It’s over.

He turns away and stalks across the grounds in a daze.  He drops the flower he’d picked for Yuuri somewhere along the way, but doesn’t notice until he glances down to find his hand empty.

 

The only reason Victor agrees to attend the dance is because Yakov threatens him in innovative, colorful ways until he gives in.  Besides, he’s too hollowed out to argue.  He doesn’t bother putting on the special outfit he’d picked out, and he avoids looking at Yuuri when he returns to the cabin that evening, just before Victor is about to leave for the dance.

“You going to the dance?” Yuuri asks.  He plops down on his bed and picks up a book, propping it on his knees.

Victor shrugs, tying his shoes.

“I think I’m actually going to go this year.  I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear it,” Yuuri says.

“Why would that make me happy?” Victor hears himself say.  He glances at Yuuri for only a second, but it’s enough to catch the blush rising on his cheeks, the wide eyes.

“I…I just meant…because you always pressure me to go.”

“I didn’t pressure you this year.”

“Oh.  Yeah, well…Phichit wants to go, so--”

“I’m glad you’re going for him, then.”

Victor tries to make his tone polite, unaffected, but he knows he fails when he sees Yuuri flinch in his periphery.

Before he can dig himself any deeper, Victor shoves to his feet and strides to the door.

“I have to help set up,” he mumbles.  “I’ll see you there.”

“Oh…kay.”

 

The dance has barely begun and Victor already wants to leave, but of course if he did Yakov would never stop punishing him.

He sips his punch, wishing it was alcoholic, and tries not to glare at the campers as they trickle in.  Yuuri still hasn’t arrived.

The atmosphere is awkward but that doesn’t stop a few brave campers from approaching Victor and chatting him up.  Victor is kind and courteous as always, but detached.  There’s only one person he wants to talk to.

Victor knows the moment Yuuri arrives, not because he’s looking, but because a hush falls over the room.  He’s in the middle of gently rebuffing a pretty skater from France when all eyes turn to the door.

Phichit is there but all focus is on Yuuri.  He isn’t wearing his glasses and his hair is slicked back, showing how the baby fat has left his face.  He’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and grey slacks instead of his usual armor of baggy, ill-fitting sweats.  It’s obvious in every curve that the extra practice has paid off. 

Victor’s mouth might be hanging open.

It’s apparent that Yuuri is uncomfortable with everyone ogling at him.  He takes a step back, hiding behind Phichit, and Victor feels a swell of envy.  He wants to go to Yuuri, wants to be the one to protect him.  He wants to tell him how anyone would be lucky to have him, how he should be proud of how handsome he looks tonight.

But then the thrum of the party resumes, and Victor is accosted by a boy begging for his number.

Victor tries to do his counselor duties as best he can, stopping a camper from dumping shitty vodka in the punch (as much as he understands the compulsion), and separating couples when things get too steamy.  Still, he can’t stop searching the room for Yuuri.  His heart flutters every time he catches sight of him, always hiding in the periphery with Phichit at his side. 

Victor had been in love with Yuuri from the moment he saw him, but it was never so intense.  So painful.  Victor decides he has to talk to him.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get close to him.  Yuuri is practically a ninja when it comes to blending into the crowd, and Victor can’t seem to shake his admirers whenever he does spot him.

He doesn’t know what he wants to say, exactly, but he has to do something.  It could be years before they see each other again. 

Finally, after an hour of bad songs and obnoxious teen couples and lost opportunities, Victor gets Yuuri alone.  Phichit has left him to refill their drinks.  Yuuri is hiding by the door.

“Yuuri,” Victor sighs in relief, walking up to him.  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Yuuri blinks at him.  He doesn’t speak.

“You…you look different tonight,” Victor says.

Yuuri’s eyes cast down.

“Phichit made me dress like this.”

Victor’s throat burns, but he bites back his bitterness, hoping none of it shows on his face.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Victor says.  He swallows hard, ignores how his hands shake where they’re linked behind his back.

Yuuri looks up at him, expectant.  His eyes are warm in the low light, pretty and distant and oblivious to Victor’s feelings, and Victor’s resolve falters.

“Good luck,” he says, voice cracking.  “I hope we can share the ice someday.”

It’s not what he meant to say at all, and the words sit false and ashy in his mouth.  Whatever faint emotion had been in Yuuri’s face falls away.

“Okay.”  The word is cold, and Victor’s gut twists.  He can’t let it end like this.

“Yuuri, I—”

“Hey guys,” Phichit says happily as he approaches, two cups in hand.  “How’s it going?”

“I’m ready to leave,” Yuuri says.  Victor’s head snaps to him.

“So soon?” Phichit whines.  “But we haven’t even danced.”

“There’s no one I want to dance with.”

Phichit doesn’t take his insult nearly as harshly as Victor.  If anything, he looks mildly inconvenienced.  Victor, on the other hand, feels like he’s been slapped.

“Alright, let’s get out of here.”

Without so much as a glance in Victor’s direction, Yuuri turns on his heel and leaves through the open door. 

“Goodnight, Victor!” Phichit says as he rushes after him.  Victor stands there, paralyzed, as Yuuri disappears into the night.

He catches him say “I’m sleeping in your cabin tonight,” to Phichit before he’s out of earshot.  It’s the last words Victor will hear from his mouth for three years.

 

 

“So that’s how he broke my heart,” Victor slurs.  He forces another shot of tequila down, wincing when it makes the back of his throat curdle.

When Chris doesn’t say anything, Victor looks at him. 

“What?” he says.

“That’s how he broke your heart…”

“Yes, that’s what I told you.  It ruined me for years.”

“It sounds like it was just a misunderstanding.  Have you ever asked him about it?”

“Of course I have.”

When Victor doesn’t elaborate, Chris nudges him. 

“He said he didn’t want to talk about it,” Victor mumbles.

Chris stares at him.

“What?” Victor says again.

 Chris sighs a world-weary sigh.  He and the bartender exchange a look.

“You said that was just the first ‘big bad’ time.  What was the next?”

“Well I’m not going to tell you if you’re gonna’ say it was just a _misunderstanding_.”  He’s too drunk to care how petulant he sounds.  Yakov would never let him be such a brat, but Chris is a much better person than Yakov, he decides.  Or at least more tolerant of his bullshit.

“Okay, okay.  I won’t.  So, what happened?”

Victor takes a deep breath, licking a drop of tequila from his lip.

“So you know how I didn’t see him again until he made the Grand Prix Final a few years later?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d been looking forward to it for weeks.  I’d planned out everything I was going to say, how I was going to finally tell him how I felt and sweep him off his feet…”

“Let me guess.  That didn’t go according to plan.”

“No,” Victor said, tossing back another shot.  “It did not.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll return to this fic once I post the last chapter of [Nerve Endings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9001282/chapters/20554537), but it won't be too long of a wait (I hope eee)! The next chapter will be the rest of Victor's stories recounting their tumultuous love, and the third chapter will be from Yuuri's perspective.
> 
> I hope you guys like it! I love you like Yuuri and Victor love stretching naked together on top of a castle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you like Victor and Yuuri love playing strip rock-paper-scissors when they're drunk. (and that's canon, folks)

“Stop fidgeting,” Yakov says, arms crossed as he glares at Victor.  “You’re supposed to be stretching.”

“I think he’s avoiding me.”  Victor shakes out his hands, trying to rid them of nervous jitters.  He bends into a few stretches.  They don’t help. 

“You can corner him after you win.”

“Do you think he’ll talk to me?”

“Are you trying to put me in an early grave?  Focus on your damn free skate.”

Though they were rarely assigned to the same competitions, this isn’t the first time Yuuri has avoided Victor.  Still, Yuuri is here now, and there’s no way Victor is losing him again. 

“He has to go to the banquet,” Yakov reminds him.  “You can annoy him there.  Just worry about taking the gold first so I can relax.”

Victor tries to do what Yakov says; he really does.  He knows he shouldn’t watch Yuuri skate before his own program, that it will only distract him, but he can’t help it.  Hiding in the shadows while Yakov is occupied with Georgi’s dramatics, he sneaks to the door of the locker room.   Yuuri has already begun his routine.

The first thing Victor notices is that Yuuri’s body has filled out since summer camp, his curves obvious in the tight, sparkly costume.  His hair is slicked back just as it was the night of the camp dance.  He doesn’t look like that boy anymore, though.  He is every bit a man.

Then, though he might imagine it, Yuuri’s eyes find him for the briefest moment. 

It triggers realization in Victor.  He suddenly sees how nervous and stiff Yuuri looks on the ice.  There’s none of the emotion Victor saw in him that first day of camp, when his body moved like it was made of music.  Victor frowns, wincing when Yuuri falls on his triple axel. 

Victor has the sinking sense that he’s watching something Yuuri wouldn’t want him to see.  It’s almost like he's making it worse.  He ducks back into the locker room and centers himself by stepping through his choreography.

He takes the gold that day.

Yuuri does not place well, and he leaves the rink before Victor has a chance to talk to him.

Victor knows Yuuri must be frustrated with his performance.  Though they haven’t talked in years, Victor understands Yuuri’s specific drive to succeed better than anyone.  One of the strengths of their friendship was always how similarly they felt about skating. 

Victor misses him, and not just because he’s in love with him.  He misses the late night chats in their cabin, the secrets he gave in trust to his new friend, the hours spent on the ice, just the two of them.  He misses Yuuri’s smile and how good he was at listening. 

He misses his best friend.

By the time the banquet is finally in full swing, Victor is brimming with so much nervous energy that Yakov might actually disown him.  He’s wearing his best suit, his best shoes, his best cologne.  He’s finger-combed his hair so many times that Yakov generously offered to rip it out.  The champagne in his hand does little to calm his nerves.  Foot tapping on the carpet, his eyes dart around the banquet hall.

“He’ll be here,” Chris says, sidling up to him and slapping him lightly on the ass.  “His coach will make him.”

“I might throw up.”

“Not the method I’d suggest for picking him up,” Chris says, taking a safe step back, “but I’ve scored with worse.”

“You’ve scored with everything.”

“Except my assistant coach, apparently.”

Chris casts a side-eyed glance at a smiling brunette across the room.  The man is talking animatedly with a few reporters, but he seems to sense Chris looking at him.  He waves, and to Victor’s great surprise, Chris actually blushes.

“That bad, huh?”

Chris chugs the rest of his drink.

“It seems neither of us is above pining.”

As if on cue, Yuuri enters the room and everything else in Victor’s world blurs.

Yuuri’s shoulders are slumped, his glasses askew.  The side of his hair is pushed up like he’s been lying on it, and his eyes are puffy.

He’s gorgeous.

“Well, what are you waiting for,” Chris says, nudging him.  “Go sweep that sad little man off his feet.”

Sucking in a deep, shaking breath, Victor downs the rest of his champagne and hands the glass to Chris.  He straightens his suit, runs a hand through his hair, and strides across the room.

Yuuri’s eyes widen when Victor comes to stand in front of him. 

“Hi Yuuri,” Victor says. 

“Victor.”

Victor has planned this moment in excruciating detail.  He’s rehearsed what he would say, anticipated any response Yuuri might come up with, for years.  He’s got a contingency plan for every possible outcome.  He couldn’t be more prepared.

So, naturally, he can’t think of a thing to say.

“You look nice,” he tries, and winces.

“That’s better than ‘different,’” Yuuri mumbles.  Victor doesn’t understand.

“What?”

“I have to go talk to my coach.”

Yuuri offers a short bow and moves to walk around him.  After all his planning, all his years of longing and obsession and desperation, Victor can’t let it end like this.  He panics.

“Wait—”  He grabs Yuuri’s arm.  Yuuri goes rail-stiff.  He blinks up at Victor with his big, soulful eyes.  “I miss you.”

Victor could slap himself.  It’s not what he intended to say at all.  It had none of the finesse he wanted; no build-up.  He must look pathetic, when all he’d wanted was to look carefree and confident. 

“You…what?”

Victor sighs.  He might as well go all-in now.

“I miss you.  I miss talking to you.  You were my best friend.  I…I sent you messages.”

“I know.”

It’s a dagger.  A part of Victor always hoped it was some technical malfunction that kept Yuuri from answering; that Yuuri avoided him at competitions by accident.  Now he knows the truth: Yuuri didn’t want to talk to him.

“I saw you skate today.”

It’s the wrong thing to say and Victor knows it even before the words are out.  The color drains from Yuuri’s face.  His temple twitches with the clench of his jaw.

“Lucky you.”

“Yuuri—”

“I didn’t bother watching you skate.  I already knew you would win.”

Victor is flustered.  He never expected the conversation to go so wrong.  He wants to turn it around, desperately, but he’s lost.  He can’t think straight.

“Do you remember the last time we talked?  On the last day of camp?”  Yuuri frowns, clearly caught off guard by the question.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“I should have asked you to dance with me.”

Victor realizes he’s still holding Yuuri’s arm.  He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go.

Yuuri mouths soundlessly, looking back and forth between Victor’s eyes.  It’s intense to have Yuuri so close, to feel his gaze again.

Then his eyes fall to the side.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Why?”  Even to his own ears Victor sounds pitiful.

“Because I don’t care anymore.”  Their eyes meet for one last brief moment before Yuuri adds, “I need a drink,” and jerks out of Victor’s grasp. 

Yuuri beelines to the bar like he can’t bear to be close to him.

For the strangest moment, Victor feels like he might burst into tears.  He hasn’t cried since he was a little kid, and he doesn’t know how to process the sensation. 

Then he swallows his pride, straightens his spine, and follows Yuuri to the bar.

He’s drinking vodka tonight.

 

Through great determination and ingenuity, Victor manages to get the drunkest he’s ever been that night.

The only person who surpasses him is Katsuki Yuuri.

“Hey, Victor,” Yuuri slurs, stumbling up to him.  He speaks so loudly that most of the party stops talking and looks over.  Victor doesn’t care.  Victor has vodka.  Victor doesn’t care about anything.

“You owe me a dance,” Yuuri says, poking him in the chest.

“But you said you didn’t care to dance with me.”  Even through his befuddled haze, Victor knows how whiny he sounds.  Not that it stops him.  “I finally asked you for a dance and you said no.”

“That was then and this is now.  Are you scared or something?”

The truth is: yes, Victor is absolutely terrified.  But he’s also so wasted that it doesn’t matter.

“No.  Let’s dance.”

They stagger out to the center of the room, which is definitely not a dance floor, just as a new song starts playing over the speakers.  Victor has every intention of keeping his hands to himself, but it seems Yuuri has other ideas.

He hooks an arm around Victor’s waist, tugging him close and startling the breath out of him.  Large, sparkling, fuzzy eyes stare up at him from way too close.

“Well?” Yuuri says.

Victor gulps, and starts to move.

The song isn’t slow but it isn’t fast either.  He’s having difficulty setting the tempo and his feet won’t listen to his brain.  Yuuri has no patience for his bumbling.  He huffs and takes the lead.

Yuuri doesn’t move like he did during his free skate the day before.  Perhaps it’s the alcohol in his blood, but Yuuri demonstrates the same freedom in his movements that endured Victor to him at the start.  Hips swaying sensually, Yuuri spins them in perfect time to the music.  He twirls Victor out only to pull him back in.  Their bodies brush together.  Victor’s heart tries to escape his chest.

“I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time,” he hears himself say.  “I wish you’d moved like this on the ice.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrow and Victor’s stomach twists.  He didn’t mean to bring up Yuuri’s failed routines again, but he can’t seem to filter his thoughts before they escape his mouth.

“Maybe you should coach me, then,” Yuuri says.  Victor trips over his own feet.  “I always did better when you were teaching me.”

Victor has longed to hear these words for years.

He doesn’t say anything in response, though.  Or at least he thinks he doesn’t.  The rest of the night fades into a tangle of music and giggling and Yuuri’s scent, so close.  Victor recalls it only in flashes of feeling, in the echo of how alive Yuuri made him feel on that non-dance floor.

The next thing Victor recalls with any clarity is stumbling to his room, Yuuri’s arm draped across his shoulders.  They’re supporting each other.  Victor can feel Yuuri’s fevered warmth through his thin shirt.  How anyone let them wander off alone is a mystery.

“This is my room,” Victor says, gesturing sluggishly to his door and fumbling to get his key out of his pocket.  His tie falls over his face from where it’s wrapped around his head.  He flips it aside.

“Mine’s just there.”  Yuuri points to a door halfway down the hall.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, just as he manages to swing open his door.  “Guess what?”

“What.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Yuuri grabs him by the lapel and yanks him close.  His breath is hot and sweet on Victor’s lips.

“Then do something about it.”

 

 

“The next day Yuuri checked out early,” Victor says with a sad sigh.  “He just left.  I was heartbroken.”

Chris and the bartender stare at him.  He waits for them to speak, and throws his hands up in the air when they don’t.

“What?”

Chris clears his throat.

“It just seems like your memory of that night is a little…unreliable.”

“Well, yeah.  You remember how much I drank.”

“I do.  And I also remember a certain skater from Japan throwing himself at you.”

Victor pauses.

“Yeah, maybe he did at one point, but I ruined it.  I never should have told him how I felt.  He must have freaked out and left as soon as he woke up so he wouldn’t have to face me.”

“Does he even remember it?  You weren’t the only one drunk off your face.”

“I don’t know.”

A pause.

“You...don’t know,” deadpans the bartender.

“I never asked him.”

Chris sighs the world’s weariest sigh.

“Victor, don’t take this the wrong way, but shouldn’t you two have, I dunno’, _talked_ a bit more before you decided to get married?”

“We talk!” Victor says defensively.  “We talk about everything.  He’s the only person in the world I can talk to; _really_ talk to.  He’s the only one who truly knows me—no offense.”

“None taken.”

“But we don’t like bringing up the times when things were bad.  What’s the point of dwelling on that stuff?”

The bartender snorts.

“It’s just, maybe you don’t remember these things accurately,” Chris continues gently.  “What if the language barrier made you both misinterpret things?”

“So you’re telling me,” the bartender interjects, putting down the pint glass he was toweling, “that you might not even be translating all this the right way?”

“I speak perfect English now!” Victor slurs, belying the point.  “But no, not when I was twenty.”

“And this ‘Yuuri’…his first language isn’t English either?”

“No,” Victor mutters.

The bartender rubs his temples.  Chris, wonderful friend that he is, decides to show mercy.

“This isn’t the whole story, though.  These are just the negative parts.  I remember when you two finally started dating.”

“Yeah, how did _you_ pull that off?”  Victor chooses to ignore the way the bartender’s tone implies his complete romantic incompetence.  It’s not like he can disagree.

“I gave up my career and showed up naked at his family’s hot spring.”

The bartender gives him a slow blink.  Without looking, he refills another shot and passes it to him.

“And he went for that?” he asks.

“No.  Mostly he just tried to avoid me in the beginning.”

The bartender’s eyes narrow.

As Victor shivers his way through the shot, Chris fumbles with his pocket and pulls out his buzzing phone.  His eyebrows arch up his forehead.

“I need to take this,” he says, before striding out to the sidewalk and leaving Victor alone with the bartender.  The man leans forward on his forearms, leveling Victor with a sharp, determined gaze.

“Listen, man.  I don’t know you and I don’t know Yuuri, but do you think maybe you’ve thrown yourself at him a bit?”

“Oh, I definitely have.”

“Well, that’s your problem right there.  If you were always the one instigating things, who can blame the guy for getting cold feet?”

“I…I don’t--”

“You seem like the kind of man who is used to winning, am I right?  You don’t quit, even when things seem hopeless.”

Victor winces.  He nods.

“That’s not always a good thing, you know?  Look, it sounds like Yuuri is not a bad person--”

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Then maybe you just wore him down.  Maybe he said yes to your proposal because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

The words lance through the haze of alcohol clouding Victor’s brain, straight to his deepest, most primal fear: Yuuri doesn’t love him.  Everything has been a lie.  Worse, Victor forced Yuuri into this.

“He didn’t say yes to my proposal,” Victor hears himself state in a monotone.  The bartender sighs and pats him on the forearm.  “The first time I asked he turned me down.  It broke my heart.”

“Then I think you know it’s best to let him go, for both your sakes.”

Victor stares down at his hands and lets the world blur around the edges.  A shadow creeps over him, made worse by the swell of alcohol.  It’s a darkness he’s had to battle his whole life, but it’s never been as dense as it is now.  He has no will to fight it, not without his dignity or his confidence or his passion.  Not without Yuuri.

He feels himself giving up. 

Then the door flies open, crashing against the wall, and Katsuki Yuuri bursts into the room.

His eyes lock on Victor.  As he strides to him, Victor vaguely notices Yuuri’s dishevelment.  His hair is a spikey mess, his eyes wide and underlined by dark smudges.  There’s a tear in his sleeve and a thick splatter of mud up his pant leg.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, and the word comes out hopeless.

 

 

“Victor,” Yuuri pants, bracing a hand on the bartop next to Victor to catch his breath.  He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.  “You have no idea what I’ve just gone through.  Where the hell have you been?  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“You found me.”  Yuuri hears the slur in his voice immediately.  He eyes the shot glass, takes in the droop in Victor’s shoulders.

“Are you drunk?”

“You left me at the altar.”

Victor stares up at him with an expression Yuuri has never seen on his face before. 

All of Yuuri’s frustration crumbles in an instant as he drops onto the stool next to Victor.  He reaches out to touch his shoulder and Victor tilts away from him.  The sting of rejection is shocking.  With a gasp, Yuuri retracts his hand before Victor topples to the floor to avoid him.

“Victor, I’m sorry but it wasn’t my fault.  It was the stupid horse-drawn carriage thing you got me.  The horse got spooked by a firetruck, and my phone fell into the mud, and we ended up across town, and—”

“Maybe it’s for the best.”

Yuuri’s heart lodges in his throat.

“What?” he breathes.

“Yeah, what?” Phichit says from behind him, more threatening than Yuuri has ever heard him.  Yuuri didn’t even realize he’d followed him inside.

“Victor—” Chris starts, materializing on Yuuri’s opposite side.  “Maybe you should—”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Victor whispers. 

Silence.

“What are you saying,” Yuuri cracks when he finds his voice.  Tears burns in his eyes and throat.  “You can’t mean that.  It was just an accident—”

“It’s not fair to either of us.”  Victor pushes to his feet and veers to the side.  Yuuri wants to catch him, but the fear of another rejection holds him back.  Fortunately, Chris steps in. 

“I’m going to take him back to the hotel,” Chris says to Yuuri, securing an arm around Victor’s waist.  “He’s just upset; he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”  Chris starts lugging Victor to the exit.  Yuuri stares at their backs, frozen and sick.

Just before the door, Victor digs his feet in and looks back at Yuuri over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lips catching on the words.  His eyes glisten with tears.  “I know it’s time to quit.”

Yuuri stares, lips parted, as his fiancé leaves him.  The door shuts.

“Yuuri?” Phichit says, fingers grazing his elbow timidly.  “It’s okay.”

“No.  No, it really isn’t.”

Victor Nikiforov has broken his heart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's sad is that isn't even the meanest way I've ended a chapter in this fandom...
> 
> Final chapter (from Yuuri's perspective) coming soon! Thank you so much to all of you. I love you like Seung-gil loves making out with married men named Nishigori.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Yuri!!!On Ice day!! I started watching this little show when only three episodes had come out, and it was lifelong love at first sight. Thank you so much for sharing in it with me!
> 
> I love you like Kubo loves skater butts.

Yuuri takes a breath, shuffling his feet.  He fights for the courage to knock. 

He’s just gotten off the phone with Chris, who begged him to go to his hotel room where Victor was holed up, not that Yuuri needed to be begged.  He was already picking up hash browns and coffee for Victor in a pathetic attempt at a peace offering.

He knows he messed up, and not just because he was late for their wedding.  Somehow, someway, he left room for doubt.  When Chris told him Victor was recounting all the ways Yuuri has broken his heart, all the times he let Victor believe he wasn’t the love of Yuuri’s life, he knew everything was his fault.

How could he let Victor think, for one second, that Yuuri didn’t adore him from the start?

He knocks.

A muffled groan of pain comes from the other side. 

When the door finally eases open, Yuuri is confronted by the sight of Victor at his absolute worst.  His hair is in tangles, a shirt that must be Chris’s droops on his frame; his skin is a sickly shade of gray.  One squinted eye looks at Yuuri without recognizing him for a few moments too long.  Then Victor’s mouth drops open, and such misery washes over his features that it steals Yuuri’s breath away.

Yuuri holds up the paper bag and coffee cup.

“May I come in?”

Victor nods, then winces and presses his fingers to his temple.  He shuffles back to bed.  As Victor pours himself onto the mattress, Yuuri takes a shaky breath to gather his resolve.  He hasn’t been this nervous around Victor in years.

“How are you feeling?” Yuuri says stupidly.  He takes a seat on the other bed, facing him.  The space between them feels cavernous. 

“Dead,” Victor mumbles.  He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.  “In every possible way.”

Yuuri swallows.  He places the coffee and food on the nightstand.

“Well, you don’t look it.”

Victor shifts his hand just enough to side-eye Yuuri.

“Liar.”

“I still think you’re handsome,” Yuuri says, with a little too much honesty.  “I always think you’re handsome.”

Then Victor does something Yuuri never would have expected.  He closes his eyes, lips turning down in a crinkled, trembling pout, and starts to cry.  He makes a small, broken sound that Yuuri will remember for the rest of his life.

“I’m not okay,” he says.

“Can I touch you?”  Yuuri whispers the words, fists clenching with the need to hold, to make this better, but he won’t without permission.  He doesn’t know if he’s allowed anymore.

Instead of answering, Victor spreads his arms wide.  Yuuri climbs on top of him in an instant, blanketing his weight gently over Victor’s frame, and sinking into the familiar feeling of strong arms around him.  He tucks his face into Victor’s neck, pushing his hands under Victor’s back to hold him.  He’s careful to keep pressure off his stomach for the sake of his hangover.

Yuuri isn’t sure how long they lay like that, with Victor sniffling until the tears pass.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says into Victor’s skin.  Victor goes stiff.

“Why are you sorry?”

Yuuri pushes up on his forearms to look at Victor’s face.  His cheeks are wet, his eyes adorably puffy.  The tip of his nose is red.

“You said it was an accident,” Victor says.  “But I was drunk and I…I assumed you—”

“It was, and it was totally out of my control, but I should have been more clear,” Yuuri tucks Victor’s hair behind his ear, “about what I feel for you.”

“I have no idea what you feel for me.”  He looks lost.  “I thought I did, but when I think back it’s all such a mess that I don’t--”

“I know.  So let me set things straight.”

“Are you going to leave me?”

Yuuri exhales.  He slides his thumb across the arch of Victor’s cheek.

“You’re the one who broke up with me, remember?”

Victor’s eyes well up with fresh tears.

“I thought it was what you wanted.”

“That’s the problem.  So let me fix it.”

Yuuri watches Victor’s throat move as he swallows.  He nods, and Yuuri begins…

 

 

Yuuri is fourteen.  He is alone in a foreign country, where he doesn’t speak the language or know anyone.  And he is terrified.

Things have been difficult for Yuuri lately.  His awkwardness seems to taunt his peers.  Every day he’s subjected to not-so-creative insults about his glasses or his weight.  The only place he finds solace is on the ice, where he loses himself in music and takes control of his body in ways he cannot take control of his life.

And yet, fear of bullies isn’t what’s making his heart race as he steps off the bus, setting foot on the camp grounds for the first time.

Victor Nikiforov is going to be here.

For the past two years Yuuri has cultivated an obsession with the Russian prodigy.  His bedroom walls are adorned with posters, he’s an active member of several fan forums; he even named his dog after the living legend.

It’s safe to say he’s just a little bit in love with him.  And that’s the scariest part of all.

At least the chances of Victor speaking to him are astronomical.  Why would the greatest junior figure skater in the world even notice Yuuri?  It’s laughable.  Yuuri has a better chance of winning the Grand Prix Final.

Then he steps into his cabin, and the object of his most secret fantasies is standing right in front of him.

“Yuuri!  It’s nice to meet you,” Victor says in thickly accented English.  “My name is Victor.  We’re going to be roommates!”

Victor throws his arms around Yuuri, enveloping him in a hug.  Yuuri is so shocked that he might black out for a few seconds.

Victor pulls back just enough so that their eyes meet.  Yuuri blinks owlishly at his face, mere inches away.  None of his posters captured the stunning blue of Victor’s eyes, or the soft, ethereal tendrils of the long hair framing his face.   His skin is pristine, and an adorable blush pinks the tip of his nose.

Up close, he’s lovelier than Yuuri could have imagined.  It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

With a stiff back, Yuuri extracts himself from Victor’s grasp before he does something weird--like confess his undying love or burst into tears, or, God forbid, try to kiss him. 

He scrambles for something to do, and settles on unpacking his bag.  Hopefully folding clothes will distract him from the fact that his ridiculously attractive, famous hero is his new roommate.  How will Yuuri sleep knowing Victor is a few feet away?  Will they talk all the time?  Become friends?  Will Victor _change in front of him??_  

Yuuri might faint.

Victor is chattering away behind him.  Even if Yuuri was paying full attention, it’s impossible to understand him.  His accent coats his words like syrup, and he speaks so quickly that Yuuri can hardly separate one syllable from the next.

Then he catches the words, “lose weight,” and his stomach drops.

Yuuri is used to comments about his figure, but not from his idol.  His mother always says people are just being mean, that Yuuri should ignore them, but this is Victor.  He’s so kind and honest in interviews.  If Victor thinks he’s ugly…maybe it’s just true.

Victor is still talking, seemingly oblivious to Yuuri’s pain.  He’s bragging about how much better he is at skating than Yuuri, as if Yuuri doesn’t already know. 

Yuuri never should have come here.  It strikes him suddenly that his acceptance letter had to be fluke.  Any minute Yakov will barge in and tell Yuuri to get back on the bus, that’s he’s too fat and awkward to be there. 

That his hopes of figure skating professionally are dead.

“Don’t you speak English?” Victor says, annunciating each word like Yuuri is an idiot.

“Yes.”  It’s a miracle Yuuri finds his voice.

“Can you leave me alone?” Victor says, the English jilted and clunky.  Yuuri turns his head to check Victor’s expression, holding onto the frail hope that he’s translating this wrong.

Victor frowns at him like Yuuri has no right to exist in his presence, and Yuuri’s heart shatters.  He has to get away.

“Yes.”

Yuuri grabs his skates without thinking, and barrels out of the cabin.  He’s barely outside before the tears fall.  He runs and runs, crying until his throat aches and his eyes sting.  Somehow, he finds his way to the steps to the rink.

He’s never needed the ice more.

 

 

“Yuuri, no!” Victor gasps, grabbing Yuuri’s face in his hands.  “That’s not what I said at all!  I asked if you wanted _me_ to leave you alone.  I thought I was bothering you.”

Yuuri huffs a laugh.

“I couldn’t understand you.  Your accent was ridiculous back then.  And you know how shy I used to be.”

“Yuuri, I was in love with you from the moment I saw your submission tape.  I thought you were adorable.  And your skating…I’d never seen anyone move like you did.”

Yuuri’s chest flutters.  It takes him a moment to find words.

“Really?”

“Of course!”

Victor covers his face with his hands.

“I’m such an idiot,” he mumbles.

“Likewise.”  Yuuri presses a kiss to Victor’s knuckles and rolls off him.  He props himself up on the pillows as Victor does the same beside him.  He hesitates to tell Victor the next part, but decides honesty is essential if they’re going to move forward, even if it hurts.  “When you followed me to the rink that day and stole my glasses, I thought you were bullying me.”

“ _Bullying_ you?”

“I mean, you did say you wouldn’t give them back until I did a jump for you.”

“I was flirting with you!  And I was trying to prove I could be your tutor.”

Yuuri sighs, sparing a thought for how moronic they are for not discussing this before.  Now that he knows Victor so completely, it all makes sense.

“So you did hate me,” Victor mutters.  Yuuri jerks to look at him.  “I feel sick.”  Victor’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth.  His skin is tinged green. 

With a finger to a chin, Yuuri turns his head until their eyes meet.

“I never hated you.”

“But it’s true, what I was worried about; I have always loved you more than you love me.”

If Yuuri wasn’t hurt to hear something that patently awful and untrue, he’d be offended.  He has to correct this, even if it means bearing himself.

“Do you remember the night you found me in the showers?”

Victor frowns.

“I don’t—”

“Why don’t you sip some coffee and I’ll tell you how I remember it.”

“Okay.”

 

 

Yuuri is about 80% sure he’s dying. 

He’s huddled in the corner shower of the locker room.  Hot water beats over him, making his workout clothes stick to his body like a net.  Air won’t fit in his lungs.  His eyes bulge; his whole body shakes.  He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.

A manic feeling has plagued him all day, like there’s an itch inside his skin he can’t scratch.  Whenever he tried to get a moment’s peace to collect himself, however, Victor seemed to materialize.  The sight of him chokes Yuuri with longing and inadequacy; makes everything worse.

By the time he finally snuck away to the rink, he was falling apart.

So, of course, Victor showed up there too.  And why wouldn’t he?  He spends all of his time skating and the rink practically belongs to him.  Everyone knows the camp wouldn’t exist without him.  Half the students there are only attending for a glimpse of a legend in the making.

He digs his forehead into his knees and sobs.  He’s going to die in this shower, and they’ll wheel his corpse out in front of all the skaters, and everyone will know how pathetic he is and--

“Yuuri?”

The sound stabs through him.  The last thing he wants is for Victor to catch him like this.  He can’t bear to look up and see him, glaring down at Yuuri with disgust.  Or worse--pity.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding anything but.  His arms clench around his legs.  “I’ll be out in a moment.”

“What’s wrong?  Are you hurt?”

Victor’s thickly accented voice is getting closer.  The panic spikes, and Yuuri finds himself gasping for air.

Then he hears a plop, and a solid body presses against his side.

“I’ll sit with you until you’re better,” Victor says.  He annunciates each word so that Yuuri understands him.  Then he starts jabbering away in Russian.  Yuuri, of course, has no idea what he’s saying, but Victor’s tone is pleasant.  The language is enchanting from his mouth; unobtrusive.  Usually when Yuuri has problems like this, any offer of support makes him recoil.  He hates being treated like a glass doll.

Victor is different.

Yuuri finds himself sinking into the timbre of his voice.  It pulls him out of himself, makes him focus.  He leans into Victor’s side before he can help himself.  Victor leans back.

“Better now?” Victor asks.  Yuuri tilts his head and looks at him for the first time. 

Victor’s hair is wet and cascading around his face.  His eyelashes are spiky with moisture, his skin flushed from the heat.  He looks at Yuuri with simple kindness.

Yuuri nods.

“I like you, Yuuri.  I want to be your friend,” Victor says.  “Will you let me?”

Yuuri can’t believe it.  Not only did Victor just save his life, but he’s asking Yuuri of all people to be his friend.

“Yes,” he says, as if there was any chance he’d say no.  He wants nothing more in the world.

Victor shoots to his feet.  A brilliant, heart-shaped smile lights up his face.  “Great!  Come on, let’s dry off and practice some jumps.”

As Victor drags him to his feet and starts tugging him toward the changing rooms, Yuuri is struck with sudden clarity:

He’s going to love Victor Nikiforov for the rest of his life.

 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Victor whispers.

“I assumed you knew.  Everyone was in love with you.  Why would you think I was any different?”

“Yuuri.”  Victor leans toward him.  He cups the side of Yuuri’s neck.  “There’s no one like you.”

Heat rises to Yuuri’s cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, playfully pushing Victor’s hand aside. 

Victor takes a sip from his coffee.  Then he stares at it, brow pulled down.

“So when we had that dance my last year of camp,” he begins.  Yuuri cringes at the memory.  “Why did you go with Phichit?”

“Because he asked me.   You didn’t.”

Victor chews on his lip.

“Actually I tried to.  I was outside the door when he asked.  I’d picked you a flower.  I was devastated when you said yes to him.”

Yuuri groans.

“The only reason Phichit even made me go to the dumb dance was because he knew how much I liked you.  He’s the one who dressed me up.  He thought you’d sweep me off my feet when you saw me—”

“I wanted to.”

“But you spent the whole night being hit on by other skaters.  And then, when I finally thought you were going to make a move, you told me I looked ‘different.’”

“I was flustered!”

A smile teases at Yuuri’s lips.

“I thought it was just me,” he confesses.  He feels giddy to talk about their past so openly.  “After that, I vowed to force myself to get over you.  It's why I didn't answer your messages.  I felt so foolish for thinking you might like me back.”

“Yuuri, I spent half my time trying not to kiss you.  Do you remember when I dared you to break into Yakov’s office?”

 

 

Victor can’t believe Yuuri is actually doing it.  He clutches his flashlight to his chest, staring up at the window Yuuri just climbed through.  When he’d made the dare, he never expected Yuuri’s face to go all serious, his eyes glinting as he simply said, “Let’s go.”  A shiver runs down Victor’s spine.

It feels like a decade before Yuuri reappears in the window.

“I did it,” he whispers, throwing a leg over the sill.  “I rearranged all his stuff.”

“Yakov will think he’s losing his mind.”

“He’ll blame you, you know,” Yuuri says.  He hits his head and winces.  Climbing out of a window is evidently a lot more challenging than climbing in.

“I’ll take the fall for you.”  A little too much sincerity sneaks into Victor’s tone.  It doesn’t matter, though, because Yuuri’s foot catches and he loses his grip.  Victor acts on instinct, lunging forward to catch him.

They hit the ground with a thud.  Victor is splayed on his back.  Yuuri is on top of him.  Their faces are a hairsbreadth apart.

Yuuri’s eyes are dilated with surprise and adrenaline.  They pull Victor in, his world centering on the light behind them.  Victor can taste the sweets Yuuri purloined after dinner on his breath.  He licks his lips, tilting his chin up on instinct.  He thinks, in that moment, that he’ll do anything to kiss him, even if it means rejection.  Even if it means the end.

Then Yuuri huffs an awkward laugh and climbs off him.  The moment is lost.

 

 

“I did that on purpose,” Yuuri says, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Fell on you, I mean.”

“Really?  That was the hardest time for me.  I wanted to kiss you more than anything.”

“Mine was when we stayed up late telling scary stories.”

 

 

“And so the campers’ blood was splattered all over their bunks.  The end,” Victor says.  They’ve only been at camp for a few nights, but Yuuri’s noticed how much Victor’s English has improved since the year before.  He must have practiced.

“Cool.  I liked the part with the chainsaw.”

Victor doesn’t say anything.  Yuuri stares up at the dark ceiling of their cabin.  His eyelids grow heavy.  He begins to drift off.

“Yuuri?”

“Mhmm.”

Victor doesn’t elaborate.  Yuuri starts to fall asleep again.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri sighs.

“What’s up?”

“Are you scared?”

“Nope.”

A pause.  Yuuri turns on his side and finds Victor staring at him from his bed a few feet away.  His skin is cast in pale moonlight from the window.  His hair looks silver.

“Are _you_ scared?” Yuuri asks.

Victor catches his bottom lip between his teeth.  He nods.  Every once in a while Victor will do something that completely jars with Yuuri’s past idea of him.  Yuuri wonders if he’s the only person who knows how cute Victor can be.

“What do you want?” Yuuri says, a little bewildered.  He’ll give him just about anything when he looks like that.

“Can I sleep in your bed?  With you?”

Yuuri’s heart lodges in his throat.  He wonders if he’s dreaming

“You want to sleep in my bed…with me.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.”

“So may I?”

“Alright,” Yuuri hears himself say.  The next moment his greatest crush is plastered against him beneath the covers, his face so close they’re almost touching.  Yuuri blinks.

“Is this okay?” Victor murmurs, words puffing against Yuuri’s lips. 

Yuuri nods.  The tips of their noses brush together.

“Can I do this?”  Victor slides his hand tentatively around Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri nods again.  He wonders if Victor can feel his heart race.

“How about this?”  He pushes his knee between Yuuri’s thighs.  A shudder ripples through him.  His skin tingles everywhere they’re touching.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Yuuri.”

“G-g’night.”

Yuuri can’t sleep.  Victor, of course, has no trouble, so Yuuri’s left staring at his soft, cute face for hours.  He obsesses over what Victor’s lips would feel like against his, how he would taste.  He’d barely have to tilt his head to kiss him, and he almost does once, a few hours into his vigil. 

But Victor wouldn’t want it, so Yuuri suffers and doesn’t do a thing.

 

 

“I did want it.  You didn’t think I was actually scared, did you?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“You’re unbelievable.”  He places his hand on Victor’s thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth.  “Think you can eat something?”

Victor blinks down at Yuuri’s touch.  “Yeah,” he says, distant.  He picks up the bag and pulls out a hash brown.  He eyes it skeptically before Yuuri squeezes his thigh, and he starts to nibble on it.

Yuuri knows he’s gearing up to ask another question about their past, but he doesn’t want to push him.  He waits, patient.

“Do you remember the night at the banquet?” Victor finally asks after he’s half done with his hash brown.  “When you finally danced with me?”

“Honestly, not really.  I’ve never been that drunk in my life.”

Victor sighs.

“Chris said that might be the case.”

“I could have told you, you know.  I could have told you all this,” Yuuri says.  He hates how defensive he sounds.  It’s not like he pushed Victor for clarity either.  This is on both of them.  "Though I guess I did...deflect you sometimes."

“Maybe, but I think I was also scared to hear the truth.  You didn’t mean to, but you broke my heart so many times.  I couldn't handle another one.”

Victor won't meet Yuuri’s eyes.

“The banquet was bad for me.  I was so nervous and excited to see you, then I caught you watching me skate and you looked so disappointed in me.  All I’d wanted was to impress you, and then you turned away like you couldn’t stand to watch me.  And then you kept bringing it up all night.  I was so ashamed.”

Victor’s face scrunches up like Yuuri’s words physically hurt him.

“Is that why you left so early the next day after I told you I was in love with you?”

Yuuri’s mind whites out for a second.

“After you _what?_ ”

Victor finally looks at him.

“After I told you I was in love with you on the way back to our rooms.”

Groaning, Yuuri buries his face in his hands.

“I don’t remember that at all.”

There’s a long pause between them.  Then Victor makes a small noise.  At first, Yuuri thinks he’s crying.  Then he realizes Victor is giggling.

“What’s so funny?”

“We are so stupid,” Victor snorts through his laughter.  “We could have been together all this time if we’d just talked.”  He winces, clutching his stomach, but can’t seem to stop.  “Uggh, I’m gonna’ throw up.”

Yuuri finds himself smiling.  He nudges Victor with his shoulder.

“Why don’t we go back to our room.  If you’re gonna’ barf you might as well do it in our honeymoon suite.”

 

Yuuri sits on their bed, flipping through his phone as he waits for Victor to finish his shower.  He’s changed into pjs, having decided that he’s earned a day in bed.  The drama on his phone over their canceled nuptials is enough to make him never want to leave their room again.

“Yuuri,” Victor says when he comes back into the room.  Yuuri startles and looks up.  Warmth spreads in belly when he sees Victor’s naked chest glistening, a towel slung precariously around his waist.  The color has returned to his skin; his eyes are alert.

“You look better,” Yuuri says, hoarse.  Victor smirks.

“Apparently.”  He stalks towards him, crawling onto the bed and letting the towel slip away.  Yuuri swallows.  He tosses his phone to the side.  “I have one more question.”

Victor says the words with their lips almost touching.  Yuuri’s eyes slide shut.  He sways forward, but Victor stays out of reach.

“The first time I proposed...why did you say no?”

Yuuri exhales through his nose and collapses back against the headboard.  That was not the question he was hoping for.

“Because I was about to propose to you.  I had rings and a plan and everything, and you ruined it by asking me in the supermarket, of all places.”

“The moment felt right.”

“We were in the condom aisle!”

“I stand by it.” 

Yuuri jerks his head to glare at him, but stalls when he finds nothing but fondness and amusement in Victor’s expression.

“Yuuri.”

“What.”

“This is one of those moments.”

“One of what moments?”

“When it’s really hard to keep from kissing you.”

Yuuri’s cheeks burn.  It seems even now, after all this time, he’s still weak for Victor.

“You can kiss me anytime you want.”

Victor leans close again.  He presses a faint kiss to Yuuri’s jaw, then his cheek. 

“What if I want to kiss you in town hall tonight, in front of our closest friends, and every day after that for the rest of our lives?”

A shuddering breath escapes Yuuri’s lips.  Victor eases back just enough to catch his expression.

“Yes,” Yuuri says.  “But only if we promise to talk to each other and not just assume the worst.”

“Agreed.  And I’ll try not to consult with bartenders about our love life anymore.”

“Good.  But if I have to go tell that bartender about our incredible sex life and epically romantic dates just to teach him to mind his own business, I’ll do it.  I’ll—” 

Victor cuts him off by sealing their lips together, and Yuuri forgets what he was ranting about in an instant.

They kiss deep and slow until Victor’s hand is in Yuuri’s pants.  They kiss until they’re whining into each other, until sweat beads and slicks.  They kiss until it’s not just kissing anymore, and then, with cooling skin and the fading huff of gasping breaths, they kiss again.

After, with Yuuri’s head resting on Victor’s chest and his lips puffy, Victor turns on the TV.

“I should call Chris.  Tell him you didn’t let me make the worst mistake of my life,” Victor says as he flicks through the channels.  “I’m sure he’ll be relieved to hear it.”

“Yeah, I should call Phichit.”

“You know, Yuuri,” Victor says, putting the remote aside.  He pulls Yuuri closer, not that there’s any space left between them.  “Looking back, as much as it hurt…I wouldn’t change a thing about my life with you.”

“Yeah.  Me neither.  Except maybe that damn carriage yesterday.  I still haven’t told you--”

Yuuri is cut off by the local news man.  Both Yuuri and Victor look to the TV screen in shock.

“ _And yesterday a runaway horse-drawn carriage careened through the city streets, destroying property and terrorizing the local chess club.  Its passenger: a Japanese figure skater by the name of Yuuri Katsuki on his way to his own wedding to Victor Nikiforov, his coach.  As civilian footage shows here, the driver lost control of the horse when a firetruck--_ ”

“Told you!”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoy you. Feel free to stop by [my tumblr](http://rageofthenerd.tumblr.com/) to say hi, or check out my other yoi fics, [Puppy Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10540119) and [Nerve Endings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001282/chapters/20554537).
> 
> I love you like Yurio loves backless tops.
> 
> PS: You know that "civilian footage" was Phichit's, who totally would have filmed Yuuri's carriage stampeding away instead of helping him.


End file.
